The Hardest Part About Saying Hello is Goodbye
by kabensi
Summary: or The Ex-Cheerio Former Teen Mother Motown Jammin' Time Traveler's Lady Wife - Quinn's a Time Traveler, RachelQuinn, Femslash
1. The Story

"The Hardest Part About Saying Hello is Goodbye"  
or The Ex-Cheerio Former Teen Mother Motown Jammin' Time Traveler's Lady Wife

NOTES: So, this... just happened. It was born out of a line in my other fic. Except, in that line, Quinn was decidedly the wife. This is, obviously, based upon the premise of The Time Traveler's Wife. Anything super brilliant is likely cribbed directly from the book. I did my best to mesh the worlds together while staying true to Ms. Fabray and Ms. Berry and also the voice of the book. This story ends much earlier than the story of Henry and Clare DeTamble, and is, therefore, happier.

Thanks to meggygurl for sneaking peeks at the Google doc while I was writing and making comments and general squees about what was going on. Thanks to grdnofevrythng for the first part of the title. Because it's perfect. But definitely too short for a Fallout Boy song. Which is why I added the second part. ;)

I hope you like it. I hope it reads all right. And I thank everyone for their enthusiasm over this. It's been a hoot to work on. It's also eaten up my life, so my lady is probably glad to see that it is finished. ;)

**The First Time Quinn Met Rachel**

_September 2, 2008_ (Rachel is 14, Quinn is 15)

RACHEL: The halls are smaller than I'd expected and the smell from the cafeteria lingers, even though A lunch isn't for another two hours. It is the first day of school, freshman year. I keep my eyes open for her, knowing she'd be here, somewhere. Even if she wouldn't acknowledge me as an actual human individual until next fall, I am still beside myself. I am convinced, determined, to meet her with a smile, no matter what happened. And, to be fair, she's prepared me for the moments to come, apologetic and remorseful over what would happen.

I don't care. This is Quinn, after all. Even if she was a self absorbed younger version of the caring woman I've known nearly all my life.

All those words and warnings and still, when that first Slushie hits me in the face, it stings. It isn't the icy chill of the slush that drips from my face, all over my brand new cardigan, the one I'd bought just for today, just for her, even though she insisted I not do something stupid like dress up to impress her. It isn't the way the corn syrup slightly burns when it seeps into my eyes. It is the laugh. Harsh and cruel and uncaring and unlike any sound I've heard from her before.

After that day, I take her advice, keep my head down, don't seek her out. I just wait. Until she is ready to come to me.

-

**The First Time Rachel Met Quinn**

_July 3rd, 2000_ (Rachel is 6, Quinn is 31)

QUINN: I'm at the summer cabin, waiting down behind the boat house. There are no clothes waiting for me in the old rowboat that's been beached high on the shore since before either of us first came here. So, I wait, naked and grateful that it must be mid-summer, because winters by the lake are harsh. The absence of clothing makes me wonder if this is a time before Rachel and I have met, or even a time before she's born. This has happened before and is inconvenient. There aren't many options for a naked woman in the forest, especially one who doesn't know how long she's staying.

I tug on the latch to the boat house door. It opens and I slip inside, hoping that there is at least a beach towel inside so I can, at the very least, pretend I'm a long distance skinny dipper from the far side of the lake. I do find a towel, several of them, stacked neatly next to the life preservers. I manage to wrap myself up in a terrycloth tribute to The Little Mermaid just as the sound of small feet beats down the path toward the lake. After a moment, she appears outside the boat house window as she climbs on the old rowboat. She stands near the bow of the boat, facing the lake, and begins to sing. Although it's muted through the walls of the boat house, I can make out "This Land is Your Land".

She is young. The youngest I've seen her, which means she must be six years old. Her hair is in pigtails and her sun dress is red, white, and blue. This in conjunction with the song suggests it's close to the Fourth of July holiday.

I don't know if I should approach her or just observe. Although, I am here, which means something. I don't really have time to evaluate the best option, because she's now seen me through the window and is suddenly pushing open the door. I hide behind the boat.

"Who's in here?"

I try to make it light, not wanting to scare her, and call out from my hiding place. "I come in peace."

Being Rachel, she was not unprepared, and came armed with a pine cone, which was promptly chucked the direction of my voice, and whizzes over my head. I stand up, and manage to catch the second pine projectile with my forehead, just above the right eye.

"Please, stop doing that. I'm not here to hurt you." I'm still fairly blocked from her view, since she hasn't moved from the doorway to investigate any further.

"Who are you? Why are you hiding?" She stands on her toes, trying to to seek me out.

"It's Quinn, Rachel. I won't hurt you." I ease out from behind the boat until we're facing each other, with the span of the boat house between us.

"How do you know my name?"

There's no point in lying. There never is. Even to people I don't know. "I'm from the future."

"What, like a time-traveler?"

"Yep."

"No. That's impossible."

"Can't be. I do it all the time."

"Prove it."

"I will, when I leave."

"What happened to your head?"

I gently brush my fingers over the scratch along my eyebrow. "You threw a pine cone at me."

"Sorry."

I sit on the small bench under the window. She doesn't move from her spot.

"I'm not allowed by myself in the boat house," she explains, even though I didn't ask.

"You're not alone."

"You're a stranger, you don't count."

"Okay. But, in the future, we're friends."

"We are?"

I nod. "Very good friends." I don't have the heart to tell her about the fact that I'll torture the poor girl with insults and dessert drinks before I come to my senses.

"That's my towel."

"I'll give it right back when I'm ready to go."

"It's okay if you use it. For now." She's closer to me, now, at least two steps in through the doorway. "I know all the songs from the movie. And all the other Disneys."

"I know. You're a very good singer."

She beams at this, because, even in this mini-sized person package, she is still Rachel Berry, Gold Star performer. "Do you want to hear my song? I'm singing before the fireworks tomorrow. It's not a solo, but Daddy says I have the strongest voice out of the whole group."

"I would love to hear it."

She smiles and plants her feet, the early stages of voice lessons already evident. Her voice is not yet the powerhouse it will become, but it's already on the way. At the end of the song, she curtsies as I applaud.

Whatever rule she was previously abiding before is now broken, as she plants herself next to me on the bench. I suppose, in her mind, we are now friends, because I liked her song. On her wrist is a beaded bracelet, the same trifecta of colors as her dress.

"That's pretty. Did you make it?"

"I did!" She fingers the beads and lightly tugs at the elastic. "I could make one for you, if you want."

"That's very nice of you, but I wouldn't be able to take it with me."

"Why not?"

"Well, if time traveler's took stuff with them all the time, lots of things in the world would end up in the wrong place and it would just be a big mess."

She pinches her face together as she imagines this particular state of the world. "I guess. Could you hide things? Like a pirate? And dig it up later?"

"I could."

She nods, once. "You should bury a treasure."

"That's a great idea. But I don't really need treasure. I need clothes. This mermaid towel is really nice, but I do like to wear more than this. Pants are always nice."

Her eyes are wide. "I can try to get something from my dads."

"I don't need them now, but if you can bring them next time, that would be nice."

"Next time?"

I nod and scan the shelves of the boat house until my eyes settle on a dusty logbook with a pencil tucked between the pages. I grab it and flip to the back page, where I print: SATURDAY JULY 8, 2000 AFTER LUNCH. I hand her the book, which she takes and studies. The pencil slips from my hand as my equilibrium fails.

"It's a secret, Rachel, okay?"

"Why?"

"Has to be. I have to go. It was very nice to meet you. And break a leg, tomorrow, with that number." I hold out my hand, she gives it a firm shake, and I disappear.

-

_March 16, 2024_ (Rachel is 30, Quinn is 31)

RACHEL: It's late, well after midnight. There's shifting on the bed and Quinn is there, facing me. She kind of screams, but nothing too loud, not really scared, just disoriented. I jump at the scream and then we both laugh. This is not the first time we've spooked each other when she's come back.

There's a scratch on her forehead, just over the right eye. I grab a tissue of the nightstand and dab at it.

"What happened?"

"You threw pine cones at me."

I don't remember doing that, although it isn't altogether unlikely. "I'm sorry." I kiss the spot just above the injury and pull her close to me.

"It's okay, I earned more than a few shots to the face from you."

I don't want to relive the worst of high school and neither does she, so we distract each other with kisses and make-up sex for fights we had half our lives ago.

-

_July 8th, 2000_ (Rachel is 6, Quinn is 29)

RACHEL: The "I Love Lucy" calendar in the kitchen says today is the same day the lady wrote down in the boat book. This morning, while Daddy made eggs and Dad read the newspaper, I asked if I could have some old clothes. Daddy wanted to know why and I said I wanted to play dress-up. Dad put down his paper and told me it was okay if I felt more comfortable in boy's clothes. I said he was silly and I just wanted to play down by the old rowboat.

Daddy took me to his closet and let me pick out some clothes he didn't wear anymore. I chose an old pair of red jogging pants, one of his big soft camping shirts, and a t-shirt with rainbow on it. Daddy asked me if I wanted a bag to put them in and I said yes, but I didn't get time to go down to the rowboat before we left to go into town.

Dad said we were going to a Farmer's Market, but I didn't see any farmers, just regular people. The people sold fruit and vegetables that are supposed to be better than the ones at the store because they are organic. I don't know what that means, but it's good for you.

We came home for lunch, and Daddy made grilled cheese with tomatoes he bought in town. After lunch, I ask to be excused so I can go play and Dad reminds me not to go in the boat house or past the rowboat because that's too close to the water. I tell him I already know that and I grab the shopping bag full of clothes and run down the path to find the lady but she's not there. I climb into the boat and sing my song from the Fourth of July, hoping she'll hear it and come out, but I finish and she's not there. I think I just might leave the bag in the boat so she can have the clothes and I start to climb out of the boat. Then I hear a crash from behind the boat house and someone says a curse word I'm not allowed to repeat.

QUINN: I slam into a wall, that I momentarily recognize as the boat house by the lake. My shoulder stings from the impact and take a few seconds to steady myself. It's mid-day, maybe early afternoon. The view across the lake is gorgeous and I can see several boats on the water. It must be peak season.

There's a shuffle and possibly a giggle emanating from around the corner of the boat house. I investigate and discover a shopping bag with clothing inside. The weather and the tourist activity on the lake lead me to believe it's the week of July fourth, shortly after our first meeting. I dig through the bag to find a pair of track pants, a flannel button down, and a gay pride t-shirt. I slip on the pants and the tee, saving the flannel for later, in case I'm here after the sun goes down.

"Thanks, Rachel," I mumble, glad to have clothes on hand that I didn't have to steal.

"You're welcome," comes the reply, because she's there, peeking around the other corner of the boat house.

She's so small, even though Rachel will never be huge in stature, she will grow to have a very commanding presence. But right now she is a little girl with the presence of a little girl.

"Hi, there." I smile at her and she waves, but doesn't come ay closer.

"Hi. I can't go past the rowboat."

I nod and carefully make my way, barefoot, over pine needles to her side of the boat house. "You did a very good job with the clothes."

She smiles, pleased at the praise. Even in this miniature state, she is certainly Rachel. She bounds back over to the boat, her safe haven, and plants herself on the bow. "I thought you might not come back."

"What's the date?"

"July eighth. Two-thousand."

"That's helpful. Thank you."

"How come you don't know that?"

"Because I just got here. A few minutes ago, I was at home, making tea and it was a February winter in 2022."

"But you told me to be here. You wrote it down."

She reaches into the front pocket of her jumper and pulls out a folded piece of paper from what looks like a ship's logbook. There, in my own writing, is the day's date.

"Well, I guess I did," is my response. And I wonder just how I'm going to explain the details of my condition to a six year-old. "You like movies, right?"

"Yes."

"And the movie happens from beginning to end. That's the story."

"Uh huh."

"And that's how life is. I'll bet this morning, you got up, brushed your teeth and had breakfast."

She nods.

"And then you..."

"Went to the farming market. Then came home for lunch."

"Okay. Right. So, one, two, three, everything in a row. You didn't just wake up at the market, did you? And then find yourself at home brushing your teeth?"

She giggles. "No."

"Well, that's how it can be for me. I might be in one place in the movie and all of a sudden decide to go back to a part before, then jump forward to a part ahead. Make sense?"

"Kind of."

"Okay, so that's a rough analogy. But the point is, I sometimes get lost in time and don't know when I am. So I have to ask."

"Are you going to stay over? We have a sofa bed in the living room. I can ask my parents."

"Thank you very much for asking, but I'm not allowed to meet your Daddies until later."

"Why?"

"Time-travelers aren't supposed to change anything when they move around. It's best not to tell too many people about us." This isn't necessarily my opinion, but it's the simplest way to explain things at the moment.

"You're talking to me."

"You, Miss Berry, are a very special little lady."

Another grin spreads across her face, then her head turns. One of her fathers is calling for her. "I have to go inside."

I can't help but notice how much she looks like our daughter, even though that's impossible. "Okay."

"Will you be back?"

I think about this and conjure up the next date from The List in my memory. "July twenty-third."

She nods at this. I repeat the date.

"And bring your Dora the Explorer notebook and a pen."

Her father calls again, and I repeat the date one final time. She waves to me before disappearing up the path toward the lake house. Once she's out of sight, I slip into the boat house, scrounging around until I find a beat up pair of yellow flip flops in the compartment under the window bench. I take a walk around the lake until it's time to go.

-

_January 17th, 2009_ (Quinn is 15 and 16)

QUINN: I'm in my bedroom with myself. She's here from next June. We're doing something that probably qualifies as a sin, twofold. Yet, somehow, the both of us justify it, despite the fact that we are both in the running for president of the Chastity Club. She just started dating Finn Hudson, and wants to perfect her kissing style. Not that we haven't kissed other guys before Finn, but there's something about practice that makes perfect, especially with someone who knows you so well.

It, in no way, means I'm a lesbian.

Even if we've progressed past kissing and are now working our way down the list of baseball metaphors. Given the chance, who wouldn't try it if the opportunity arose?

There's a sound in the hall, outside my room, then the doorknob turns and there's Mom in the doorway. Even though my other self has managed to pull my bathrobe around her, I'm not as quick. Nor am I prepared for the look on her face. I can tell she's been drinking. It's Saturday evening, so she's had at least three refills of Johnny Walker Black Label.

She just shakes her head at me and pulls the door shut. I jump off the bed, pull on my WMHS warm-up suit, and chase after her down the hall. Dad's not home, so it could be worse. She's already in their bedroom, the door closed. I knock, but there's no answer.

"Mom?" Nothing.

I make my way back to my room and shut the door. "This is your fault. You could have warned me. You knew she'd walk in. You know how this family is and how they react to things."

She sits in my desk chair, head in her hands. "Just stop."

"I won't stop! All you had to do was say something--"

"It wouldn't matter! We can't change things. If I had said something, somehow, it still would have happened." She rises from the chair and opens the closet. "We're not superheroes, Quinn. We're not X-Men. We're not supposed to make a difference when we travel. I think the only time we can make change is in the present." She retrieves an old pair of jeans, ones I stopped wearing during the winter because I always gain a couple pounds after the holidays, and a hoodie. "Mom won't mention it, anyway. Tomorrow morning she'll pretend she doesn't remember."

"Maybe she really will forget."

She shakes her head, and I know she's right. "Mind if I borrow these?" In her hands are my old Adidas sneakers.

I just got a new pair for Christmas. "Go ahead."

"What about a coat?"

I roll my eyes and find a bulky jacket in the back of the closet. It's a hand me down from my sister that I've always hated. Quinn makes a face, but puts it on, anyway. She picks up the Fossil tin on my desk where I stash any cash from Christmas and birthdays and takes thirty bucks.

"Hey!"

"I can't just wander around in the middle of winter."

She's right. "Maybe try the movie theater?" I offer.

She shrugs, then moves for the door. We quietly progress down the stairs to the front door where I watch myself step out into the cold night.

-

_September 23, 2009_ (Quinn is 19 and 16)

QUINN: I'm in the McKinley high school girl's locker room, which is empty for the day, except for me and the other me. I've managed to slip on one of Coach Sylvester's track suits, which I found on the hangar, fresh from the dry cleaner. I try not to think of whoever will bear the brunt of her anger when it ends up crumpled on the floor once I depart.

My younger self stands at our locker, the open door blocking any view of me. She's quietly singing Beyonce's "Single Ladies" to herself, myself, and doen't notice that someone has moved down the row of lockers and is now standing just on the other side of the hinged metal.

I know this was a difficult time for me. I remember, I lived it. I also know I was an insufferable bitch. This dictates my next course of action.

My hand reaches out and slams the locker shut, eliciting a scream from my doppleganger. She recovers, quickly.

"Leave me alone."

"I don't know how long I have, but there is one thing we're going to get straight, right here, right now. Stop tormenting Rachel Berry."

She narrows her eyes at me, arms crossed in front of her. "You're not real. I've decided none of this traveling is. You're a demon."

I remember the speech from this moment, the first time. I'd spent a week at Christian Summer camp, praying and looking for logical answers to this thing that sent me bouncing through time.

"How do you explain when you go somewhere, Quinn?"

"Fine. It's a hallucination. Maybe I have a brain tumor. But whatever you are--" she steps up to me, "You're. Not. Real. None of it is. So, leave me alone." She turns to scoop up her bag, ready to storm out, a signature Fabray exit.

I'm not entirely sure of the date, but I risk it, "Even if I'm not real, that baby is."

The bag drops, hits the floor, but she doesn't turn. "How can you know that? I haven't told anyone, yet."

"You know the answer to that, already."

She's silent before she turns to ask, "What's going to happen?"

But I'm already gone.

-

_August 7, 2006_ (Rachel is 12 and Quinn is 32)

QUINN: Rachel and I are playing cards out on the Franklin's dock. Mr. and Mrs. Franklin left to go back home to Cleveland last week, so property is vacant and we can be alone. She's humming as she studies her cards. The tune is familiar, but I can't place it, at first. Then it hits me.

"Is that from High School Musical?"

She glances at me over the top of the cards. "Yeah. You know it?" She seems surprised. Probably because I'm so old to her.

"I had all three soundtracks on my iPod, once upon a time."

"Three?"

"Oh. Yeah, there's gonna be two more."

Her eyes sparkle at this. "Really? Is Zac Efron in all of them?"

"Yeah. Why, you like him?"

There's a toss of hair before she discards. "He's a solid vocal lead."

Her gaze is fixed on the discard pile, but her attention is elsewhere. She's thinking about Zac Efron and it's making me jealous. Which is ridiculous, considering I had a poster of him, in full Wildcats garb on the back of my bedroom door right that very moment, back in Lima.

"If you're into that, then he's dreamy, I guess."

Brown eyes have redirected from the cards back up to me. "Who do you like?"

I can't very well tell her the truth to that one, so I counter, "You mean, when I was your age?"

"Yeah." She thinks about this. "When were you my age?"

"2005. I'm only a year older than you."

"You're way older than that."

"I mean, in regular time, I'm a year older. Right now, me, I'm thirty two. But somewhere, out there, is me at thirteen."

Her eyes squint as she thinks about this. "There are two of you?"

"Really, there's one of me, but I sometimes move around in time to where I already am. So, I guess you could say there's two of me."

"How come I never see more than one?"

"You will."

"In the future?"

I nod. "Yep."

"So, who did you like in 2005?"

"I had a crush on Drake Bell."

She makes a face. "Why would you like him?"

"Why would you like Zac Efron?"

"He's talented. Gin!"

"You want to play, again?"

She takes the cards and begins to shuffle. "Who do you like now?"

"In 2006?"

"No, now. When you're thirty-two."

I consider just telling her, but twelve still seems awfully young. I don't want to interrupt her dreams of talented Zac Efron and his vocal abilities. Why is she asking about this, anyway?

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you married?"

"Yes," I admit.

"To who?"

"Someone very talented and very beautiful."

"Oh." Her face is tucked down and she deals the cards.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Am I married?"

"I already let it slip about the three High School Musicals."

"Come on, I just want to know."

"If you're married to Zac Efron?"

Her mouth is tight like she's trying hard not to smile at that. "How did you meet your wife?"

I don't even question how she knew that much. "It's a secret."

"Were you time traveling?"

"No. We met in high school." I wonder if this is too much information.

"Is your wife a time traveler, too?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Just a regular lady. Well, maybe regular isn't the right word."

"Does she worry about you?"

"Yes." I wonder what Rachel's doing, right now. Hopefully, she's sleeping through this particular absence and won't notice I'm gone.

"Do you love her?"

"Very much." I wait for her to play her next card, then notice there are tears creating wet spots on the wooden dock just beneath her. "What's wrong?"

I scoot next to her and put an arm over her shoulder. She leans into me, steadying her quiet sobs.

"It's just that I thought maybe you were married to me."

-

_October 12, 2009_ (Rachel is 16, Quinn is 16)

RACHEL: I know this is just a transitional period. I know this is just high school. I know this is simply a test from the universe, in patience, designed to make me stronger and able to strive toward my destiny. But it sucks.

I don't mind waiting for Quinn, I really don't. I don't even care that she, at this point in time, is pretty horrible to me. Or, she was until she joined Glee. Lately, she been tolerable. It also might be because of the baby. I can even handle the idea of the baby, regardless of how it came to be. I can't necessarily wrap my mind around it, but I know everything must work out, just fine.

What sucks is trying to bide my time in any seemingly normal capacity. I could just sit at home, like some kind of a nun, but I am a young woman with hormones and curiosities. And maybe I pursued both Finn and Noah because I knew they'd been important to her. She, until recently, has never given me the time of day, unless it happens to be printed on the bottom of an extra large Big Quench cup.

And, through it all, I feel the need to protect her. Especially from Jacob Ben Israel and his stupid blog.

Her hand slams my locker shut. "Listen here, Treasure Trail, we're about to have a smackdown."

I'm not in the mood for this from her. Maybe because I know how close I am to actually getting to her, real Quinn, in real time. "I don't want to have a confrontation."

"Don't," she grabs me as I try to walk away, "play stupid with me, Stubbles. I'm having Finn's baby, and you need to back off. I'm asking you as nicely as I possibly can. Leave. Him. Alone."

"You're right. I've helped not because it's the right thing to do, but because I have romantic ulterior motives."

She studies me, almost as if she knows exactly what those motives are.

I, however, feel the need to express words that will likely fall on deaf ears, "But just so we're clear, you're the one who's cheating." I know she won't get it and I know she's not even really cheating, since she doesn't know.

"Excuse me?" She's honestly legitimately offended.

I cover. "I have it on good authority that you're Sue Sylvester's mole. And you can deny it all you want, but know it's true." I wonder if I should tell her that she's the one whole told me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Now I'm on a roll, because, for the moment, I'm in control and this Quinn needs to hear everything I have to say. "Sue's not on your side, Quinn. She's not on anyone's side but her own. Can you imagine what she's going to do once she finds out about your situation? She'll probably try to rip up your uniform with her bare hands. Every time you whisper in her ear, you empower her to do more damage to the Glee Club. Right now? Glee Club? Is all you have. If I were you, I'd recognize who my true friends are. And, I'd practice a little bit more, because you obviously have a lot you need to express."

"Oh, you have no idea," she huffs and the storms away from me.

She's wrong, though. I have all kinds of ideas.

-

_April 27, 2021_ (Rachel is 27, Quinn is 16)

QUINN: I grope around, because it's dark. But I'm indoors, wherever I am. My eyes adjust to the dim light coming through the window and the digital clock on what seems to be a nightstand. It's eight-sixteen.

I find a lamp next to the clock, switch it on, then grab the first clothes I see, which are draped across the edge of the bed in front of me. I assume they're someone's pajamas, yoga pants and a tank top, and they're more comfortable than other items I've had to use on the fly.

I'm a little nauseous and immediately realize this is the first time I've traveled while pregnant. I worry about the baby, even though it isn't really mine, in the long run. Not it. She. She isn't really mine.

I peek through the door into the hallway, but the rest of the house is dark, no one's home. This definitely ranks as one of the more comfortable trips I've made. Empty house, comfy clothes. I can easily relax and wait it out.

It's perfect, actually, considering I'm just coming off an argument with stupid Rachel Berry. She thinks she knows everything and she knows nothing. She doesn't know me or my life or what I need to do with it.

I find my way to the kitchen and find Vitamin Water in the fridge. This is the first time it crosses my mind that maybe I'm in my own apartment. There's a small stack of mail on the counter and I pick up an envelope. It's addressed to Occupant, but the phone bill underneath reads Quinn Fabray on the address line. I wonder where I've gone for the night. I wonder what I do now for a living. I wonder why the next two bit of mail are addressed to Rachel Berry.

My stomach drops and I already know the answer. It's ridiculous and it's the thing I've been trying to prevent from happening since the first day of high school. I can't possibly be in love with Rachel Berry. It's sick and it's wrong and it's a sin.

But so is getting pregnant out of wedlock. And I managed that, just fine.

There's a key in the lock on the front door, which opens. It's Rachel, maybe ten years older than the girl who just told me Sue Sylvester would ruin me, given the chance. She sees me and smiles, then pauses.

"Oh. It's you."

"You were expecting someone else?"

"No. I knew you'd be here."

"Then why play surprised?"

"I didn't know exactly when you'd be here."

She drops her keys on the counter, as if she does it every day, which I'm sure she does. "You're here from that day, aren't you?"

"Which day, Berry?" I snap.

There's a half smile on her face, as if I've told on old joke she hasn't heard in a long time. "The day I tried to squash the baby story by trading underpants."

"Yeah." I screw and unscrew the cap to the Vitamin Water.

"You want to sit down?" She pats the back of the sofa.

I shrug and shuffle toward the couch. She doesn't try to sit next to me, she sits in an armchair, instead. I keep my eyes on the floor because I really don't want to know anything about this life, if I can avoid it.

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't apologize if you don't mean it."

"Are we... happy?"

She smiles. "Yeah. We are."

"This is impossible."

"So is time travel, according to most people."

I want to ask about the baby. I want to ask about us. I want to ask about Finn and Puck and Glee, but I can already feel everything slipping. This is a short visit.

I look up at her. "I really am sorry."

Her face softens, or maybe it's just because my vision's blurring. "I know."

-

_October 12, 2009_ (Rachel is 16, Quinn is 16)

RACHEL: We're working on our new number, "Keep Holding On". I'm early to rehearsal, as usual. I like to do a dry run, alone, on stage, before everyone else shows up. I'm not the first one here, though, this time. Someone's in the dressing room, already. I hope it's Finn, because maybe we can do the run together and I can give him some pointers.

It's not Finn. It's Quinn. I haven't talked to her since yesterday and I haven't seen her since Sue called out the pregnancy in Glee.

I don't want to be cornered by her, right now. "Sorry, I'll go."

"No." She catches my arm.

Her eyes are red from crying, which is no surprise, she practically broke down in Finn's arms in the hallway. I wanted to tell her it would all be okay, but I didn't know how, really, without getting into too much detail. Aside from the tears, there's something else different about her eyes. The way she looks at me. There is no disdain, no contempt.

I realize that this is the day, the moment when it all comes together. It's a little bit more melancholy that I'd imagined.

She looks so scared and almost frail, which, until now, I thought was an impossibility for Quinn. She's always been confident, here in school and in the past. But she was older back then.

"It's okay," I say.

I step closer and reach out my arm. Her natural instinct is to retract and shy away from it, but she relaxes and lets me pull her in, my arms wrapped around her. Her face buries itself in my shoulder as she cries and I don't know if it's about the baby or Finn or me or what. She stays there for several minutes, just letting me hold her.

By the time the rest of the club shows up, she's sitting in a chair, fixing her make-up and we haven't talked about anything.

But from this point on, everything is different. We'll have plenty of time to say what we need to say.

And, right now, I let the music do the talking.

-

_April 27, 2021_ (Rachel is 27, Quinn is 28)

RACHEL: I'm still folding the clothes that were left behind on the sofa when she walks through the door. Her eyes bounce from the yoga pants to me and she knows.

"Just missed me, huh?"

"Barely."

"That was a lot to digest."

"You were so sad, back then."

"I had a lot going on."

I see the guilt in her eyes, still, even now. I do my best to extinguish it with a kiss, then another, until we're sprawled across the sofa, disheveled and content.

-

_February 02, 2010_ (Rachel is 16, Quinn is 18)

RACHEL: I'm alone in the dance room on a Monday afternoon. Everyone's still riding the high from Sectionals, but that's been well over a month ago and it's time to start thinking seriously about Regionals.

I haven't even worked through all my stretches, yet, and the door opens.

"I've booked this room till four," I tell the intruder, even though the schedule is posted on the door, plain as day.

They don't answer, so I look up to tell them to kindly exit, but it's Quinn. She's wearing her Cheerio's uniform and, after a double take, I see that she's not pregnant. But she doesn't look that much different from the Quinn I saw when school let out.

"I thought you might be here."

"Haven't seen that on you in a while." I look over the uniform that used to represent my daily torment. I never really noticed how flattering the skirt was or the way it bounced when she walked. Or maybe I'm just sixteen and not making a lot of physical progress with my girlfriend.

She sees me eyeing the skirt and proceeds to twirl, which is probably a natural reaction. "It's Brittany's. Her locker's the easiest to get into, because the combo is always 1-2-3." Her hair is down, instead of up in that tight ponytail, which makes the uniform seem less threatening, somehow. Or maybe it's the girl in the uniform that's changed. "What are you working on?"

"Just maintaining."

She maneuvers behind me and begins to rub my shoulders. "Oh. I thought maybe you were working off some pent up energy."

My eyes are impossible to keep open while her hands are working around my neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't worry. In about a week, it'll all change."

"What will?"

She stops rubbing, but doesn't let go. Her mouth is warm against my ear. "The sex, stupid." I can hear the smile in her voice.

"The-- Oh. I wasn't... worried... about it."

"Liar." She goes back to the massage.

"Is that safe--"

"For the baby? Yes."

I lean back into her hands, more lost in the contact that I probably should be. Though, it's not cheating or anything, because this is Quinn. And it's just a massage. Except my head is tilted back and her face is right next to mine and I can't help but want to kiss her, out of habit, out of want, out of need, out of opportunity.

When I do kiss her, she doesn't pull away, and I'm no longer facing away from her, but we're both on our knees facing each other. My hands are in her hair, and it's all so very much the same and still very different than kissing my Quinn from the present. We've been taking it somewhat slow, because of the baby and because we're sixteen and because of everything. But this Quinn, she knows me, knows what I like, even if I didn't know I liked it until right now. Like whatever that spot is on my hip that she's grabbing at. Or that her other hand is pulling my hair, just hard enough.

She leans back, breaks the kiss, and says, "Try the I'm Sorry Cookies. They work like a charm." I swear she winks as she begins to fade.

Before I can even ask what I'm apologizing for, she's gone and I'm left with the uniform in my hands. I hear the door open, again. And, again, it's Quinn. Only, this time, she's pregnant and not boasting the WMHS logo on any of her clothing. She takes one look at the garment in my hands and gives me a look that tells me I'd better get home and start baking.

-

_August 1, 2011_ (Rachel is 17, Quinn is 18)

QUINN: This is the first time I've come back to find myself in bed with her. Though, we just recently started with the overnights, so maybe that's why.

I stare at the ceiling through the dim light and make out rustic rafters above. Her dads took Madison for the weekend and let us use the lake house. It was the first time we'd been truly alone and on our own since the baby had been born. Even before that, we were still working on our relationship. It took me some time to adjust to the fact that I really did love her, even though, in hindsight, all that passion I'd been pouring out in anger had to come from somewhere.

I turn on my side, she's facing away from me. I wonder if she even knows I left.

Her hand reaches back and finds mine. She lifts my arm up and over so I'm holding her against me. "Where'd you go?"

I guess she did notice, after all. "The dance room."

"I was in so much trouble with you."

"Not that much."

"You didn't talk to me all the way home."

"I got over it." I kiss her shoulder. "I told you those cookies would work."

"You could just ask for them."

"They don't taste as good."

"Go to sleep."

-

_November 24, 2006_ (Rachel is 13, Quinn is 31)

QUINN: We've been playing Chinese checkers in the boat house for the better part of an hour. There's a space heater pointed directly at us, which does a respectable job of keeping the cold at bay. She managed to bring me a good-sized portion of leftover's from the previous day's Thanksgiving feast, so I am warm and full and more than happy to pass the time hopping marbles around the playing board.

And then she asks, "What does she do?"

"Who?"

"Your wife?"

"She's a singer."

"Like me?"

"Yes."

"Who's better?"

"I can't choose."

"That's a cop out."

"You're young and you're still growing, still developing your voice. It wouldn't be fair."

"So, you're saying she's better."

"I plead the fifth."

"I've been thinking about this for a while."

"Have you?"

She nods. "And I figured it out."

"And what's that?"

"The reason you can't choose..."

I lean in, over the board, "Spit it out, the suspense is killing me."

"... is because it's me. I'm your wife."

I don't respond, because I don't know what to say. And then it comes out, "You're a smart cookie."

Hair tosses over her shoulder, classic Rachel. "I know."

"How'd you come to that conclusion?"

"I have a lot of time to kill while I'm waiting around for you. Even with all the lessons and practice time."

"Well, now that you know, are you going to let me win a game?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so."

-

_December 24, 2016_ (Rachel is 22, Quinn is 22)

RACHEL: It's Christmas Eve. Quinn's been trying to get Madison to settle down and go to sleep for at least twenty minutes. I'm in the guest room, wrapping last minute gifts and mentally running over my yearly argument that Hanukkah is designed to keep kids from going totally insane because they can look forward to eight days of gifts instead of waiting through a single night for an overload the following morning. Except, this year, Hanukkah starts on Christmas Day and, therefore, negates my entire theory.

There's a light knock and she's peeking through the crack in the door. "All clear?"

All of her presents are already wrapped and under the tree. "All clear."

She pushes the door open and leans against the frame. "She's asleep. Finally."

I gather up the packages I've wrapped and hand some to her to carry out to the living room. We place these gifts with the others and she disappears into the kitchen to make coffee, decaf, because Madison will be up with the sun, maybe even before.

She sets two cups on the coffee table and we sit on the sofa, facing each other with our feet tucked up onto the cushions. I take one sip of the drink and realize she's spiked it with Kahlua. She just grins at me and sips at her own steaming cup.

"You don't have to get me drunk to sleep with you," I tease.

She rolls her eyes and sets her cup down. Now she's resting on her knees and fidgeting, then she's up on her feet.

"Don't go anywhere," she tells me, as if I'm not already as comfortable as possible in my own home.

After a moment, she's back, taking another swig of coffee, although I can tell it burns her mouth, just a little. There's something in her hand, but I can't tell what it is, at first. The second she drops to her knees, right between the table and the couch, I know.

I suddenly realize I'm not even holding the coffee cup anymore, and I worry that I've dropped it all over myself and didn't notice, but it's there, on the table, next to Quinn's cup. I look down at her, in front of me, my hand wrapped tightly in one of hers. Her other hand is holding a velvet box, just like the kind in movies and television and books and dreams.

"Rachel?"

Years of training and practice and performing still don't prepare me for this moment and my voice almost fails me, so I have to clear my throat. "Yes?"

"I love you. And I know you've loved me for longer than I deserved it. Will you marry me?"

"Yes... Quinn." It's uncanny, this feeling. "But, you know, really... I already have."

-

_July 30, 2008_ (Rachel is 14, Quinn is 24)

QUINN: We're out for a walk around the lake. She's full of pep and yammering away about the excitement of high school and her chance to build a repertoire of extra-curricular that will further pad her experience portfolio.

I'm only half listening, because I'm trying to figure out how to keep her from getting hurt. Especially by the obnoxious younger version of myself that has never been on the receiving end of a Slushie facial.

"Be careful."

"What? Is there a snake?" She freezes on the forest path.

"No, not here. You're fine." I have a lot to say about what's to come, but I'm also amused. "Have you ever seen a snake out here?"

She relaxes. "No. But we were watching Snakes on a Plane, last night. There was a limited selection at the rental place."

I laugh, then continue with my original though. "When you get to high school, just--"

"Be strong, I know. We've had this talk."

"I don't have to tell you to be strong, Rach. You have an iron will."

She smiles at the abbreviation of her name, something I don't start doing until we've been together, in real time, for at least a year. "I do pay attention when you tell me things. I have a whole notebook full of all that stuff."

"I know, but..." I try to find the right words to tell her. "Me, back then, or now, I guess, I'm really horrible. And I don't know you, yet."

"And you're mean. I remember."

"Just, don't try to find me. Let me come to you, okay?"

She nods. "Okay."

"I promise it all works out."

"I believe you."

We continue down the path. I know she hears what I'm saying, but I don't think she truly believes me. This makes my heart break, more than anything.

-

_June 16, 2017_ (Rachel is 22, Quinn is 23)

QUINN: I wake up just as dawn breaks across the lake. I am in a strange room and I briefly wonder if I've traveled, but then remember I'm staying at the Franklin's cabin. Despite being a seemingly un-traditional family in the eyes of certain people, the Berrys insisted that Rachel and I spend the night away from each other before today.

The big day.

I bounce out of bed, and check on the dress, that hangs, right where i left it, in the closet. It's quite simple, nothing like I'd imagined I would wear on my wedding day when I used to daydream about it in junior high. I also didn't picture the curvy brunette that only matched my height in extreme heels to be my counterpart.

But that was then and this is now, and it's finally happening.

RACHEL: It's early, but I'm already awake. I pad over to the window and try to see the neighboring cabin, even though I know there are too many trees in the way. Still, I know she's there. And I know she'll be here at eleven, because she has to be, because she can't be anywhere else.

-

_August 20, 2009_ (Quinn is 23)

QUINN: I'm lying on the floor of my old bedroom. I'm alone, and everything in here says I'm likely at Cheerios practice or out with Santana and Brittany.

Where and when I am not has me cursing and furious.

-

_June 16, 2017_ (Rachel is 22, Quinn is 30)

RACHEL: Everyone is in place, which isn't a difficult task, because it's a small ceremony. I look out at the minister and the rabbi standing out on the dock and smile at the fact that the most important day of my life is waiting for a punchline.

I wonder if maybe it all is some kind of joke, because Quinn's nowhere to be seen. We rehearsed everything last night and she knows how I am about hitting cues.

Which makes me worry.

QUINN: There are trees towering above me and I am lying naked on the forest floor. This is not a first, but definitely inconvenient. I sit up and can hear strains of music. I'm here, Rachel, don't worry.

The Franklin place is just behind me and I make a break for the back door before anyone spots a member of the wedding party streaking when she's supposed to be making her way down the aisle.

The dress is on the floor of the bathroom, in a heap, right, I suppose, where I left it. I don't have time to do much with my hair, but before now, I had just come back from a night out and I suppose it still looks fine. The dress is on, but I can't find the shoes, so I decide to go without them. Rachel will seem much taller than she is in the photos, but she likes that, so it's okay.

RACHEL: My fears are squashed when I see her, running down the path, toward me, toward everyone. She's barefoot and never been so beautiful.

She makes her way to the dock and takes my hand. I pull a pine needle from her hair.

"You made it."

"Couldn't miss it."

And we are married.

-

_June 19, 2017_ (Rachel is 22, Quinn is 23)

QUINN: The Monday after the wedding, we are at the Toledo City Hall, being married by a judge. Kurt and Brittany are the witnesses. Afterward, we go to dinner and Brittany decides she is the official photographer for this secondary wedding and snaps pictures on her camera phone.

"How does it feel being married?" Kurt asks me.

But Rachel answers, "I feel very married." She grabs my hand. "I wonder if I'm a bigamist?"

"I think you're allowed to marry the same person as many times as you want," Brittany offers. She's always been full of simple wisdom.

Kurt studies my face. "Are you the same person?"

"Yes. But more so," I reply.

Rachel smiles and me and raises her glass. I tap mine against hers. A wedding toast. And, for the first time in my life, we are married.


	2. The Deleted Scenes

(deleted scenes)

_April 23, 2010_ (Rachel is 16, Quinn is 18)

QUINN: It's late, but there's a lamp on and I'm in her room. For a second, I think maybe I haven't traveled at all, that I just dozed off or something. But I'm on the floor and I'm naked. And while that still doesn't entirely negate the time travel theory, the bed gives it away. First the comforter, the one she got rid just last month, after Madison poured grape juice all over it. Also, the bed itself has since been replaced.

I sit up, and she's on the bed, in a tank top and a pair of Joe Boxer pajama pants, knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair's up in a loose ponytail, and though her eyes are tired, she's absolutely beautiful.

She pulls the white earbuds out of her ears and there's a small smile. "Hey."

"Hi." At first, I don't really make an effort to cover myself, because this is Rachel, she sees me undressed a lot of the time. Actually, she prefers me that way. But she's staring at me, which we both realize at the same time and reach for the same throw blanket at the foot of the bed.

"Sorry. I'm just not used to seeing you naked... without the baby."

I wrap the blanket around myself, then plant myself on the bed at her feet. "What's today?"

"April 23rd, 2010."

I grin. "The due date."

She nods. "But she came-"

"- a week early."

"Yeah. On your birthday."

"I remember. I was there."

"When are you-"

"It's been about six months since I was with you in the dance room. For me, anyway. But it's only been about half that time for you, right?"

She nods. The headphones wrap around the iPod and she sets it aside on the nightstand. "You're asleep, downstairs in your room, with Madison. I think you're asleep, anyway."

I remember this. I told her to go up and get some rest, because, all week she'd been doting on me and the baby and eventually exhausted herself. I'd be downstairs all night, rocking and reading to the baby, catching naps between feedings.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"We... eventually... do more... right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I love you so much and we do plenty... and I know we will again soon, but..."

A smile hits me once I understand what she's asking. And, really, if she only knew. "You're still worried about the sex, aren't you?"

"Not worried."

I scoot up and sit next to her, leaning against the pillows, still holding the blanket around me. "Listen, once summer gets here, you won't know what hit you. In about two weeks, I go on a mission to put my body back in shape, and, trust me, you definitely appreciate it."

She smiles at that, glancing at me, at the blanket, like she's trying to see through it. "You like it, though, right?"

"Sex? Yes. Definitely."

"I mean... specifically..." She's trying to get at something, and it's rare to see her so cautious when it comes to bedroom talk. Rachel Berry isn't shy and certainly not all that reserved when it comes to these things.

Then, it hits me. I know exactly what she's talking about. Even though we'd gotten substantially physical by this point in her timeline, I'd been very unsure about the idea of oral stimulation while I was pregnant. Which is utterly ridiculous, seeing as how I, in my present time, can't seem to get enough. But, back then, I was still self conscious and clinging to religious repression. We'd get to it that summer, and curse that we hadn't discovered it much sooner. To Rachel's credit, while she verified time and time I again whether or not I wanted her to try it, she never once request I return the favor for her. Not before the baby, anyway. Current Rachel, my Rachel, has no qualms about requests and demands.

I look at her and see her need, her desire, her exhaustion. I know it's going to be a rough month or so in the sexual needs department, for both of us, because of the baby, because of my recovery, because we're still hormone addled teens.

"Hey, it all works out."

"I know. I just... I worry. Like, am I any good at it? Because I haven't had any practice. And, I'm very diligent about practicing."

"Good at-" I laugh, because it's ridiculous, Rachel Berry questioning her own ability. "Rach, honey, don't worry. You're a natural talent at anything involving your mouth."

She blushes at that, but smiles. I think about kissing her, and briefly ponder the ethics of possibly doing more than just than. But she beats me to it. Her mouth finds mine, her hands are in my hair, she's pushing me back against the pillows. I can feel how badly she wants, needs this contact.

RACHEL: It's like that day in the dance room. She's Quinn, but she's different. She knows things. I tug at the blanket, pulling it open then leaning back so I can take in the sight of her. I've always loved looking at Quinn, always thought she was beautiful with the baby in her belly, but this is a whole new experience. Her abs are tight, I'm not worried about jarring anything.

"Wait," she says, and I worry I've done something wrong, that she's putting a stop to this. Instead, she rolls us over so I'm on my back and her hands are up my shirt, touching and caressing me before she pulls the fabric up over my head.

Her lips find mine, again, then my neck, then lower, breasts, stomach, just below my belly button. My breath catches when I realize what she's about to do. Her fingers are barely hooked over the edged of the pants and her eyes are gazing up at me, waiting for something. An answer? Permission? I nod. I nod a lot, actually. I want this. I need this.

She grins, and my pants and underwear are gone, just like that. Her mouth trails up my inner thigh, her breath is hot against my skin. And then it's there, her tongue is right there, and it's warm and it's perfect and it feels softer, maybe more intimate that what we've been doing. Not really better or worse, just new. Different.

"Oh my god," I manage, my hand resting on her head, fingers moving through blonde hair. Her hands slide over the skin of my stomach and settle there, her feet up in the air, casual. I realize I've never seen Quinn in this position before, lying on her stomach. It's subtle and it's fresh and it's suddenly another detail about her that I love.

But whatever list I was rolling through in my mind is gone now, because I can't focus on anything but that feeling. Whatever she's doing, however she's doing it, is increasing my heart rate and tightening my fingers in her hair. "Quinn..." I breathe, my hand reaching for, grasping hers. Her eyes meet mine and it's one of the most erotic moments of my young life, which, granted, isn't saying much, but I'm convinced it's noteworthy. If I could actually see her mouth, I'm sure she's smiling or, more likely, smirking, at me.

It's slow and steady, the release that comes from this. Again, different. My free hand clutches the bedspread, the other still tangled in blonde tresses. I tense, clutch, contract and she doesn't stop until I actually relax and urge her upward. I don't know the etiquette of this, but all I want to do is kiss her, and when I do, I taste what has to be me on her mouth, lips, and tongue.

"I love you," I say, content and sated.

QUINN: The biggest giveaway that this is a first experience for her, is the fact that she's not already making the move for seconds. She's never greedy, just determined. But here, now, this girl is fulfilled and sleepy and already beginning to doze. Which is prefect, because I can tell I'm about to be back home, very soon.

Tomorrow, she'll bring me flowers. I'll assume they're for the baby. She won't say otherwise.

_March 6, 2019 (Quinn is 26 and 18, Rachel is 25)_

RACHEL: It's just us and then, suddenly, it isn't. Someone else is in the room. If I didn't know better, I might be scared, but I now it's her. Who else could it be? Though, I'm cursing her timing.

Actually, I should be cursing our timing. Because Quinn knew she'd be here tonight, right now. I'm sure it's written down, somewhere. But I just got back from a two week tour with a children's show and she surprised me with dinner and what was supposed to be a romantic evening at home, since Madison's over at Brittany's.

"Sorry" is the first word out of her mouth when she sees us.

Even though the lighting's dim, the fact that the only illumination in the room is candles is probably a dead giveaway to what we're up to.

"I'll just wait out..." She trails off as she stands and moves for the door.

"It's okay, you don't have to go," says Quinn, my Quinn, right now Quinn. She's already got her shirt back on. Her ability to dress so quickly is uncanny, though necessary, I know. "I forgot you'd be here."

"Oh," is all the traveling Quinn says. But she takes the robe that's offered to her and slips it on.

"You're what... 18?" Quinn asks herself.

"Yeah. I just came from the night before Rachel's eighteenth birthday."

I smile. That was a really good birthday. Quinn had thrown me a surprise party. And, the private after party was particularly memorable.

QUINN: It's awkward. Not as awkward as, say, your mother walking in on you trying to get intimate with yourself, literally, you and the other you, in bed. But awkward in the sense that I know I've interrupted something because I've seen that look in Rachel's eyes, and I'm the one who puts it there.

So, when I ask myself to stay, I know it's out of courtesy. I wrap the robe around myself and make small talk about when I'm from, but I don't hear whatever the next question is, because my eyes can't pull away from what's sitting on the nightstand.

It's like slow motion, when they both turn their heads to see what I'm looking and I know I'm beet red and probably stammering, but I can't stop looking at it and thinking about why it's there. And, I'm not offended or disturbed or anything, I'm curious and suddenly picturing every single use for it.

Rachel and I have only been together for less than two years, so we really haven't branched out past the basics. Basics that are serving us very,very well, thank you. Still, I can't help but wonder.

RACHEL: She's staring at it like she's never seen a strap on before. Then I realize, maybe she hasn't. Not in person, anyway. It was a couple years into our relationship, our real time relationship, that we started dabbling with toys.

Suddenly, I have an idea. The kind of idea I'm not sure I should share or not. Only my Quinn can see the look on my face and she already knows what I'm thinking.

"You might as well try it on," she says to her younger self. "It certainly won't be the last time you wear one." Quinn's already off the bed and handing it to her.

My mind suddenly races with the possibilities that could come out of this. I've been around both two Quinns before, but the situations were always more public and less intimate. Sure, yes, I've thought about something like this, two of them, both in love with me, wanting me, touching me. What woman with a time traveling wife wouldn't imagine that?

I sit up, forgetting that I was holding the sheet over myself, and it falls, and I'm naked, but I really don't care because I'm alone with my wife, even if she's two people, right now.

QUINN: This should probably seem weird, me showing myself how to adjust the harness of a strap on while Rachel watches, wide eyed and eager. It's not weird, though. Not really. It's just me and the woman I love. And me. Older me who looks like she's in damn good shape.

"What year is it," I ask, not that it's very important, right now. But I'm definitely curious at what point we're so comfortable with sex that we're so willing to improvise. I also wonder if this has happened before.

"2019," I hear me say. Which means I'm twenty-six, eight years older than myself. I think that just barely qualifies me as a cougar. Or would, if I was planning to have sex with myself. Which, I have before. And likely will tonight, especially if Rachel has anything to do with it.

There's something about her, when she's older, that I'm drawn to. Maybe it's maturity or the fact that she's always known me. I don't know. Whatever the case, I love her, whenever I see her. And right now, I want her.

I glance over at myself, knowing what I want to do, but still a little unsure. "This is okay, right?"

"It's up to you," Quinn says, glancing back at Rachel, who looks like she's about ready to pounce on both of us.

Rachel rises up off the bed, not caring that she's totally nude. Though, she never really cares about things like that, especially not at home. She stops in front of us, takes me by the hand, gives the other me a wink, then leads me back to the bed.

While we're still standing, she slips her hand behind my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. So far, I've only ever kissed her out of time on two other occasions, once that she knows of now, and once that hasn't happened yet for her. I'm always amazed at how it's so very much the same, and, yet, different.

She moved back onto the bed and pulls me with her. The... appendage... is somewhere between us. Right now, her attention is on my breasts, hands groping, feeling, almost as if she's comparing what I feel like to the Quinn. Or, that's what I assume she's doing.

Then we're kissing again, heavy and heated. This is what she's like when she's ready, when she's done waiting, if I tease her too long, this is her saying she wants me. Her legs fall open, wider, and she's got her hand wrapped around... it.

I break the kiss and look down at her, as if to make sure this is what she wants, really. There's a look on her face that suggests if I stopped what was about to happen, she'll kill me right there and destroy the entire space-time continuum.

I lean back, my legs folded underneath me, my own hand grabs the shaft as I prepare to give Rachel what she wants. There's a dip in the bed and warmth behind me, a mouth pressing close to my ear.

I hear my own voice say, "Go slow at first. She gets worked up really fast and it's easy to get lost in it. But draw it out a little. Make her ask for it."

Rachel's attention seems to temporarily be distracted from the previous task at hand, because she's staring at the both of us. I take a moment to try and figure out what she wants, but Quinn is already well aware of what's going on. I feel warm breath on my neck and a hand on my stomach. My eyes drift shut and the breath is followed by lips, kisses, a single light bite. I turn my head and we're kissing each other, me and myself. I haven't done this since before Rachel, and it's always been one of the stranger parts of interacting with myself.

Weirdness be damned, because the moan that comes from Rachel as she watches us makes it well worth getting over any mild qualms I might have about it.

"Fuck, that's hot," is her exact opinion on the matter.

Quinn breaks the kiss and nods toward Rachel. "Lady's waiting."

She stays behind me for a moment, chin on my shoulder, arms wrapped around me. I can tell they're having some kind of moment, because they're looking at each other, not saying anything, the same way I do with Rachel when words are irrelevant.

Then, it's just me, because Quinn's moved off to the side like some kind of sex referee. I position myself so I'm lying between her legs, the silicon in my hand, again. I gently, cautiously press into her. I have to remind myself that, while this is my first time with this, it's not hers. She arches up against me as it pushes into her, and I revel at the fact that I can get her to make that face with both my hands free and be in a position where I can see her. Once I'm all the way in, I rock back, pulling out, starting a rhythm. Her fingers dig into my back, her legs are wrapped around me. She's definitely into this. Of course, that's Rachel with just about any sexual activity.

I establish a steady pace, pleased with myself for figuring this whole thing out so easily. One of her hands releases its grip on me and reaches for Quinn, who takes it and kisses each finger, then the palm. It's unreal, how I'm her and they're us.

Rachel pulls me back down for another kiss, then says, "Hold on." She pushes me up and off of her, then moves over to Quinn. They kiss and it's intense, watching them, like it's some kind of live home sex video in three dimensions. Four, really.

She lowers her head down Quinn's body, stopping to drop kisses here and there, then settles between her legs. For a couple seconds, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next, but then realize she's still propped up on her knees, waiting for me. There a glance over her shoulder, brown eyes looking back at me, and she doesn't even have to say anything.

RACHEL: It's better than I could have ever imagined. My mouth is on her while she's pressing into me from behind. I'm pretty sure my head might explode. I rock back against her while I work my tongue over my Quinn. She's just as wet as I am from all of this. Then again, she's always been a bit of a narcissist.

We build back up to a nice steady pace, but it's almost too nice. Like she's trying to be careful, and Rachel Berry doesn't do careful.

"Harder," I say, reluctantly pulling my mouth just long enough to get the word out. She responds well to instruction, she always does. I groan into the wetness, my tongue bumping harder against Quinn with each thrust from the other Quinn. Hands are tangled in my hair, hands grip my hips, and they're all the same hands, only not. Really, honestly, I'm surprised I haven't had to think of the mailman already.

After a little while, she slows down again, and I can't help but think my Quinn is giving her some kind of cues as to what to do.

"More, baby, please?" I whimper. The request goes out to either of them, really. And they both respond. The hands tighten in my hair and the strokes increase. I'm rolling back, hard, against her, trying to focus on the fact that I now have two fingers deep in my wife, the Quinn who just groaned my name.

It's finally too much or just enough, I'm quaking and then I'm over the edge, crying out and collapsing against the blonde in front of me. She pulls me up closer to her and kisses my face. I know she's not finished, but I'll get to her in a minute. Right now, I have no voluntary motor functions.

I can hear her, the other Quinn, unfastening the harness, then feel her move up behind me and she presses a kiss to my shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispers, and I laugh at the absurdity of her thanking me for that. I doze off for a few minutes, and when I wake up, she's gone.

But my Quinn is right where she's supposed to be. She shrugs and says, "Now you know why I practically jumped you that night."

I laugh. "When I asked what got into you, you just said you missed me."

"Well, I did." She places a single kiss on my nose. "And you remember what I gave you for your eighteenth birthday?"

"Of course, two tickets to Cabaret." But I know that's not the answer she's looking for. That night, after the party, she'd taken me up to our room and handed me a box from the adult store. "You know, I just thought you were a natural. I didn't know you'd had lessons."

"Learned from the best, didn't I?"

I shut her up by kissing my way back down her body and picking up where I left off.

-

_October 2, 2016_ (Rachel is 23, Quinn is 16 and 23)

QUINN: I wake up on the floor and my hands immediately move to my stomach. I'm in my seventh month and this is only the second time I've traveled while pregnant. It's also the first time I've traveled since knowing about Rachel. In fact, I just left her. She was in the kitchen making spaghetti, because I'd been craving it all day.

I sit up. The room's lit by a lamp in the corner and butterfly twinkle lights across the window. This is a child's room, given the size of the junior sized bed and the small table in the corner. On top of the green and yellow striped comforter is a white grown-up sized robe, a tank top, and a pair of Superman boxer shorts.

I quickly grab the clothes and pull them on, the boxers proving to be incredibly comfortable. In fact, the entire ensemble seems like it was purposely selected for someone pregnant, like me. The door creaks as it pushes open just a little, and a small face peeks into the room.

It's a little girl, about six years old. I suddenly wonder if this is Rachel's room, because at some point in time I learned I'd be going back to visit her. Except this girl is blonde.

"Hi," she says, pushing her way past the door. She doesn't seem shy or afraid of me.

"Hello," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You're very pretty."

"Thank you."

She moved to the table and picks up a folded piece of paper, which she promptly hands to me. "I was worried I wouldn't know what to say, so Mama said to write it down. But," she looks me over, "you seem regular."

I'm not really sure what she's talking about, but maybe the paper will help. The outside has a drawing of a heart and a seahorse while the inside features a few lines of six year old lettering, beginning with "Dear Mommy." I nearly drop the note, but I recover and keep reading. "The date is October 2, 2016. You can stay for dinner. Love, Madison."

My mouth is hanging open, but I quickly shut it as I look up at her. "You're..." My hand rubs over my swollen belly.

"Madison Amelia Fabray-Berry." She bows dramatically, then tosses her hair over her shoulder. While I'm still getting used to dating Rachel back in my time, I can easily see how this child is a joint product of us both. "How old am I?" she asks.

"Um, six?" is my guess.

She sighs as she flings her head back, arms outstretched, then straightens back up. "No, I mean, that me," she clarifies, pointing at my stomach.

"Oh!" I realize this is a kid who is clearly up on at least the basics of where babies come from. Or, at least, where they're stored before birth. "You're seven months and counting."

RACHEL: I'm in the kitchen, cooking veggie burgers. I know Quinn's due to show up any minute. And I can tell the other Quinn is already here, because there are voices coming from Madison's bedroom. I load the burgers onto a plate and turn off the stove. Timing is always important in this household, because one of us is always coming or going, between college classes, rehearsal, Madison's school and lessons, and everything in between. It was at least nice to have a heads up about our impromptu dinner guest.

"Madison! Wash up for dinner!" I call down the hallway. "Have Quinn... er, your mom help you, if you need it."

I hear more conversation, then footsteps to the bathroom, running water, a brief debate about how long hand washing is supposed to take, more footsteps, and then she's there, in our dining room, looking pregnant and tired but grateful.

"Hey," I say, before immediately pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit down, get off your feet." Quinn's always talking about the weirdness and stress of traveling and the last thing I want is for her to have any problems. Not that it would be too serious, because Madison's right there, climbing into her own seat plain as day, obviously born just the way was supposed to be.

Quinn sits and I put a hand on her shoulder before bending down to kiss the top of her head. She leans against me for a moment, in a non-verbal moment of thanks.

I hear the front door and know it's Quinn, my Quinn, coming home from class.

QUINN: "Sorry, ladies. The express train wasn't feeling very expressive." I dump my book bag by the front door and kick off my shoes. As expected, there's an extra me at the table, tonight. In my other hand I'm still holding a plastic bag from the bodega on the corner and as I approach the table, I reach inside and produce a bottle of Vitamin Water. I still like the stuff now, but when I was pregnant with Madison, I practically bathed in it.

She takes the drink. "Thanks."

"Do I get one?" asks Madison, because this is definitely a case of Like Mother, Like Daughter.

I fish a second bottle out of the bag and hand it to her, but I wave a warning finger in her direction. "Have me help you open that."

Madison nods and passes the bottle to Quinn, who twists off the cap. "Thank you," is her reply, and I'm pleased that my daughter is being well behaved and not scaring the crap out of my pregnant self.

Rachel kisses my cheek and asks me to help her grab the rest of the food and bring it to the table.

An hour later, the food is gone and so is Quinn.

_March 12, 2010_ (Quinn is 16, Rachel is 16)

RACHEL: When she reappears in the living room, I almost cry in relief. I immediately throw my arms around her. "Don't do that, again."

Quinn laughs, despite the fact that she's totally naked and just came back from who knows where. "Can't really help it, Rach."

I pull back and wipe at my eyes, because before she'd come back, I'd been crying, worried. There's a throw blanket on the couch within reach, so I grab it and drape it over her. "I just... I don't think you should go like that... with the baby."

"She's fine," she assures me. "I... saw her. That's where I was."

I wonder if I heard her correctly. "You were with her?"

Quinn nods and smiles, "Yeah. She's pretty awesome. Well, she is at six. Maybe she grows up to be a total bitch, I don't know."

I want to ask more, but I know she doesn't like divulging too much about what she learns. Even though she insists she can't change things. But knowing this much is enough, for now. I pull her in for a kiss, glad to have her back, even though she was only gone for an hour, but this is the first time she's left me during our actual timeline.

"Can you..." I know my request is ridiculous, but I ask it, anyway. "Quinn, can you please not leave again until after she's born?"

There's a pause, like she's trying to decide if it's a promise she can make. But finally, she just says, "Okay."

And I believe her.


End file.
